To Live & Let Go
by LoriDeux
Summary: is the greatest feat of all.


_Excuse me, too busy_

_You're writing your tragedy_

_These mishaps, you bubble wrap_

_When you've no idea what you're like_

-.-

The first time he tries to talk to her she barely gives him the time of day.

She's curled up on an old brown recliner that's conveniently positioned beside a window with an excellent view of the frozen lake and snow-covered pinecones that make up part of the scenery of the high-prestige campus. There's a mug of coffee sitting patiently in the table next to her, and an oversized tan leather bag keeps it company.

She's decked in black from head to toe, with the royal blue scarf wrapped around her neck serving as the only splash of color on her persona. Her hair is short and straight and it highlights the elegant angles of her face, contrasting with the nearly snow-white complexion of her skin.

That's not what interests him, though.

At first glance, she's a typical Grad School student, and he's seen all of that before.

Instead, it's the way she carries herself.

It's the air of dignity and poise that she seems to radiate. The way in which there's something niggling at the base of his spine, warning him that she's not like all the other girls he's met, though that might be due to him having not actually met her yet (officially). Beck opens his mouth to introduce himself but then.

"No."

He stops, gaping at the girl in front of him as his mind tries to catch up with her instant dismissal because it's not possible, right? He's Beck Oliver, after all. He's handsome and talented and intelligent and nearly twenty-four and it's been a long time since anyone has ever turned him away, for any reason.

"What?" he asks, running a hand through his long hair before tucking both of them into the pockets of his gray denim jeans, mindful of the way in which he knows the flannel from his shirt will bunch up around his arms.

It never hurt anyone to show off their goods a little bit.

She arches an eyebrow, tearing her gaze away from the novel in her hands for a few seconds to give him the most unimpressed look he's ever seen anybody wear. "I said 'no'," she repeats, spreading her thin fingers on the page so she won't lose her place. "Whatever over-used and clichéd line you were about to drop on me; don't even bother."

"I wasn't going to use a line," he defends himself, unable to hide a guilty and sheepish grin when she narrows her eyes at him and immediately making a mental note to watch his mouth before his usually-winning arsenal of flirty banter slipped off his tongue and made a fool out of him.

"Oh, please," she scoffs, turning the worn-looking page and running her index finger across a crease on the top corner of the page, delicately smoothing out the material to avoid further damage. "I could feel you staring at me from across the hall for the last ten minutes, let's cut the crap and stop wasting time; I'm not interested."

He would like to take this moment to note that he was, in fact, not _staring_.

Simply observing.

"That's kind of harsh, don't you think?" he questions her, flashing his most charming smile before continuing. "I just thought it was kind of odd how we're in one of the most beautiful places in the world and you're sitting here reading, alone. Figured I'd be nice and ask if you wanted some company."

"And you can honestly look at me in the eye and swear you're not dropping a line?" she retorts, rolling her eyes before giving up on her novel and stuffing it back inside her bag. It's only visible for a second, but it's long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the cover: _The Rum Diary. _

A classic, really, but exactly the type of book he wouldn't expect a girl like her to be reading and apparently engrossed in. He would peg her for an Austen or Wilde or Faulkner groupie, but nowhere in his mind does she fit in with the chaos-and-clutter loving and angst living that Thompson was so infamous for. Plus, the book looked used and worn, as if someone had gifted it to her.

A mystery indeed.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I happen to enjoy spending time alone."

He shrugs, deciding to rethink his strategy and catch her again when she's in a more accommodating mood. They're on the same campus, after all, and running into her again was practically inevitable. "Fair enough. Can I at least know your name, then, or is that a little too much to ask for?"

The cold glare returns for a moment, but then she seems to mentally shrug-off some invisible weight from her shoulders and the tension on her face eases.

"Jade," she finally supplies, before throwing the straps from her purse over her shoulder and grabbing her mug of coffee from the table. She tilts her head, before lifting her left hand until it's at eyelevel between them and she wiggles her fingers so the light reflects on the diamonds belonging to the sole ring on her finger. "Mrs. Jade Daniels."

And that should have been the end of it.

-.-


End file.
